Why one should't Apparate when drunk
by Sero Dace
Summary: It can have funny consequences, like ending up in a familiar place, a long time ago and very far away. Naturally, this happens to Harry Potter, who for once was simply trying to celebrate his birthday in peace. Now, he has to deal with another Dark Lord.


**Why one shouldn't Apparate when drunk**

The journal of Harry James Potter

_1__st__ of August 1999 (I think)_

Endless dunes and plains of sand, greyish yellow in the rising sun. An imperceptible breeze makes the small sharp grains twirl up and creep into places it is not wanted, like my socks. And my throat.

That is how I woke up this morning. My head pounding, my throat sore and raw and my tongue feeling like a shoe sole that hiked for weeks on end. Sputtering a scratchy noise, trying to get rid of the sand burning my parched mouth, I rose, only for the view to make me curse.

I guess I should have thought more and heeded the warning not to Apparate when one is drunk. It should be noted, however, that I had a perfectly good excuse. Both for the drunk and the Apparating part. Last night –or what I hope was last night- I celebrated my nineteenth birthday in a nice little pub not too far from my home in Godric's Hollow. I was quite happy, surrounded by scores of boisterous people who didn't have the faintest clue such a thing as the Boy-Who-Lived existed. After several rounds of Scotch, I became quite popular amongst the pub farers. The resulting impromptu party made the evening into my best birthday celebration ever. No complicating magic, no ridiculous acronyms, no hated hyphenated names, just plain old Harry.

Of course, such joy was not allowed to last for a certain wizard. Said wizard, me, never seems to be able to catch a break. My happy haze, induced by many shots of the rich amber liquid that has my new found personal preference, was smashed to smithereens when my befuddled mind registered the eye-straining unfashionable appearance that was so perfectly –not- carried by he one and only Rita Skeeter. Before the urge to hex her into oblivion –Secrecy act be damned- overcame me, which would have been disastrous for everyone –including me- given the percentage of alcohol in my blood, I Disapparated.

I am unsure as to what happened. Even now, I can't remember which Destination I was thinking of, nor would my Deliberation have been up to par due to my drunken state. The only thing I remember since making the turn on the spot to Disapparate is waking up in the middle of a desert. The irony of ending up here should hit you over the head here, because everyone who has ever experienced those wonderful things called hangovers can tell that after waking up, one requires three things immediately. Unfortunately, there are no bathrooms, no water-coolers and no handy medicine or potion cabinets containing a painkiller or hangover cure.

Once I had gotten to my feet, a highly painful act, I took in my surroundings. Seeing more sand than anyone would ever want or need is not conductive to the sensation of a troll dancing on and in one's head. Nor for the growing exasperation with that wench called Luck and her sister, Fate.

Standing there, my throat too raw to speak and in need of certain amenities, a dozen alternatives for Apparating away from Skeeter in my state entered my mind. It is evident hangovers don't aid one's concentration, nor one's common sense. I am a wizard. I still had my wand, fortunately. A few simple transfigurations and some charm-work, including an Aguamenti and a cooling charm, would have greatly improved life. Especially that morning. Sadly, I only remembered my magical education a few minutes ago, when I transfigured some scraps into a quill and ink well.

When checking for my wand, which was still in my wrist-holster, I also found my personal notebook, which I am writing in now. It had been advised to me (should I even mention by whom?) to always carry it with me, to write down my thought, my emotions and my feelings at all times. This advisor knew me well enough to know I never spoke to anyone about such things, so she hoped I found some solace in a journal of some sort. The events preceding her giving me that notebook as a birthday present had left me wracked with grief and guilt, left to stew for a few months with my "loving and caring" relatives.

I suppose it helped in a way, as I started filling it with any thoughts or ideas I had. A fine example of this is the _"1001 Wonderful Ways to lay Waste to Warts known as Umbridge, Snape, Voldemort, …"_ (insert list of numerous Ministry workers, Slytherins and many others who annoyed me in some way). You have to forgive me for being affected by the Wizarding World's love for acronyms, hyphens and alliteration. It was a moment of weakness on my part. Halfway the third volume, near the end of my seventh year at Hogwarts, I shortened the title to "_The Guide to Get rid of Gits like Malfoy_". Most names in the earlier page-long title had become obsolete, while I had become indifferent to others.

The rising temperature didn't help the situation any. To my knowledge, there are no deserts in or anywhere near great Britain. For all intents and purposes, I was lost, without a way to go home. A killer headache prevented me from gaining any Determination or to get a firm Destination in mind. Besides which, the apparent distance to any Destination I knew of was too large to safely Apparate. It is a miracle I got here without Splinching.

I was thirsty, yet still sweating like an otter. The heat became oppressive. It wasn't a good indication for the rest of the day. The sun had barely fully formed on the horizon and already it was the hottest place I had ever been to. My predicament went from bad to worse when I saw a glowing outline appearing on the horizon, heralding the arrival of a second sun.

Several scenarios went through my head: Illusions, madness, insanity, dreams, hallucinations or even worse, a mental prison of some new Dark Lord having it out for me. To be honest, at the time I am writing this, I am still unsure whether this is real or not, but suffice it to say, I seem to be stuck here, wherever here is. Oh, some metal guy is blabbering on about Tat-o-een. His voice is quite high-pitched and rather whining, so I am focussing more on writing this than paying attention to some surreal illusionary golden walking armour.

As I was saying –or writing- a second sun rose. Now, if anyone thought hanging for hours over a boiling cauldron full of stinking potion was hot, you are barely prepared for this new definition of hot! I was drying out where I stood, sweating like an otter. Even more eerie was that my sweat visibly evaporated before it properly formed on my skin! It is a novel sensation, and one I do not feel like repeating. I swear, if they tell me the only way home is on this Tat-o-een, I will seriously consider just staying in this nice little hallucination. Even if it means sitting in a cramped metal room that doesn't smell all that fresh. It is better if I don't think too much about the source of said smell. The perpetrator might take offence and doesn't look too friendly.

Anyway, back to my journaling.

(I am only actually writing it down since all that happened since waking up in the middle of that desert seems too unbelievable, even for a wizard who went through everything I did. If I ever get out of this –whatever it is-, I at least have this to convince me I am not going insane.)

In desperate need of water, or the clarity of mind that would remind me I actually know the Aguamenti charm, I started wandering through the endless miles of sand. What must have been hours later and very close to my collapsing point, I was shaken from my thirsty, dried out, haze by low sounding shrieks and grunts, accompanied by some metallic and stony clanging sounds.

I had arrived at some kind of valley, unfortunately without a river. At the narrow bottom, I saw the strangest machine I had ever seen. It was obviously a vehicle, but muggles didn't have that yet, to my knowledge. It looked like a dusted reddish coloured floating cabrio without wheels. It looked kind of cool, to be honest, and the fact that it floated already was a big plus in my book. I love everything that flies. Except Dementors. And dragons, at least if they are trying to kill me. Otherwise, they are also kind of cool.

The shrieks and grunts were now interspersed with some high-pitched yammering, some beeping and a lot of scuffing sounds. A walking golden armour, accompanied by a little white-and-blue rolling dome-topped _something_ was trying to get away from robe-wearing mummies. On closer look, those mummies (at least, they sounded and acted like freshly disturbed mummies and this _was_ a desert) seemed to have little pieces of garbage stuck into their facial bandages. Odd.

Just as I noticed a young man dressed fully in dusty white, scrambling away from more of these odd mummies, I was scared out of my observation and fell stumbled forward when a loud shriek sounded from just behind me. As I fell, I turned around, to see even more mummies, before painfully hitting the hot sand. I tried grabbing my wand, as the mummy lifted a strange weapon, obviously to kill me. I would be far too late to save myself, if not for a horrible and immensely loud roar echoing all around me. It gave me a very unwanted sense of déjà-vu to a certain day in my fourth year at Hogwarts.

The positive thing was, all the mummies froze in their tracks, even the one in mid-swing. They looked like a herd of frightened running birds, cocking their head just so, before running of like the devil himself was on their heels. If that roar was anything to go by, the devil would have been more pleasant. Trying to scramble to my feet and at the same time grabbing my wand, I turned to where I think the sound originated from, if the direction the mummies run away in was anything to go by.

If I had been capable of it, I would have run as well, or Disapparated, or anything! But I was in too much pain, to parched and too tired to do any of those. I am considered a highly powerful wizard, easily in the league of Dumbledore and Riddle, but facing a dragon single-handedly, especially in my state, would have been too much. Instead of a dragon appearing, however, an obviously old man appeared from between some rocks at one end of the valley. Now this one looked like a wizard, especially with his hood on, pointed up like a wizarding hat.

As he made for the boy, who was apparently barely conscious, I started making my way down, still discreetly palming my wand. At least the adrenalin from the fear and excitement had cleared my head somewhat –mind you, still not enough to remember I could conjure water-. As I approached the wizard and the boy, and the two metal oddities, one carrying his own arm, I heard them speaking. It was not in a language I was familiar with. Suddenly, the wizard-like man looked up and I was confronted by a familiar pair of twinkling blue eyes. It was creepy, especially as I felt a faint brush against my Occlumency shields. It didn't feel like a Legilimency attack, more like a… sweep of his presence and with a very unfamiliar taste to it, for lack of better words.

As the Boy got up, he asked the man something, and the wizard threw back his hood, revealing a face that obviously fitted with the familiar twinkling blue eyes. Paste on a longer beard and add some half moon shaped glasses and he could pass as the brother of Hogwarts' Headmaster. This was an extremely bad sign!

I hate it when I am right.

In my quest for water, I was dragged along in a new adventure. A glowing blue, yet very pretty woman with the most uncommon haircut I had ever seen (It looked like she had breakfast pastries attached to the sides of her head) seemed to be pleading. I could see the pondering the Dumbledore look-a-like was doing, and the decision he reached. The walking golden armour in the meanwhile, after getting his arm reattached, tried communicating with me.

By this time, I had noticed the wires in his arms, and with the closer presence, it was obvious he and his companion were more along the lines of some kind of robot than something magically enchanted. He obviously tried out a lot of languages, till he finally came to my language, though it sounded a little different, with a lot of drawn out 'sss'es. The moment I acknowledged that I understood the language, the golden robot introduced himself.

C-3PO is easy to remember. After that, he started sounding a bit like a rambling Hermione who tried to spout all her knowledge in a single breath, like she always did in classes. Six million languages, though, is a bit more than Hermione could possible remember, I believe, no matter how bright she is.

The 'droid' as he called himself, started yammering again, even though it now was in English –or what I thought was English- and I barely paid attention, especially when the wizard –called a Jedi, I later learned- mysteriously pulled out a small hidden box, revealing a think metal wand like thing. I couldn't understand what he was saying, though the bright light-blue beam of energy was quite impressive. As he swung it around in an elegant move, I recognized it as being some kind of sword.

And off we were. I should avoid twinkling eyes! They always get me into trouble! In this case, a gigantic burned out tank, surrounded by a pile of tiny, robed, dead bodies. I followed the example of the others, and collected them, building some kind of funeral pyre. I had a growing bad feeling about all this, but my innate curiosity wouldn't allow me to leave. I couldn't even blame it on my dismal state anymore!

After finally getting some water and slowly growing accustomed to the heat, I had remembered that I was a wizard. Not only that, but my hangover was abating, and I was much more comfortable, having discreetly placed a cooling charm on my clothes. It was still incredibly hot, but bearable. As the wizard, Ben is his name, wasn't visibly using magic, I kept my own little talents a secret as well, though it was obvious the boy was some sort of apprentice. I only call this Luke a boy because he still has that youthful innocence about him, even though he must be about the same age I am. Even then, I had the feeling I wouldn't be calling him a boy much longer. Such was one's fate upon receiving some kind of weapon from secretive old men.

Things suddenly went forward with great leaps, as Luke rushed away, only to return not too long after, no longer a mere boy, as I had predicted. Have I already mentioned I hate being right?

Before I knew it, we were in some kind of city, where guys wearing white plastic armour and orange shoulder pads, of all things, were checking out everyone. If I didn't have my suspicions about the old man, I would have missed it. With a subtle wave of his hand, he apparently made the leader of the soldiers repeat his exact words, allowing us to pass. Strangely enough, I didn't feel any magic. I am not saying I am an expert, but usually when magic is used, those with significant power are able to sense it in a way. This would bear closer observation.

At the same time, my feeling of dread kept growing. My penchant for getting into trouble and right in the thick of things seemed to be following me everywhere, even into hallucinations… or through faulty apparitions. If all this was really happening, I can understand why no one Apparated when drunk. Obviously one rule I should have never broken, if it makes you end up on a different planet –pure assumption at this point, but the twin suns were quite a clue-.

I tried ignoring the fact that plenty of the citizens didn't exactly look human, but as the humans seemed to pay that no mind, I felt my assumption solidifying into a very likely theory.

A nice show of flashing blue light later, followed by a bit of negotiation in a seedy pub, reminiscent of those in the Wizarding World back home, we were on our way to quite a large building. By this point, I began wondering why they allowed me to follow them with them barely knowing my first name. In fact, I was wondering why I was still following them!

My saving-people-thing apparently joined in on the fun.

Before we entered the hangar like building, Ben turned to me and finally inquired what I was planning to do. He told me that I could still get out… or…

I always hate that 'or'.

I was officially offered to join on their quest. I didn't get much details, only something about a delivery that could help the people overcome a great evil known as the Empire.

The actual conversation took a bit longer, as the golden droid had to translate everything.

It was as I had expected. I always get involved in these things! Though, this time, I was not forced to. On the other hand, could I really refuse? My passive Legilimency convinced me of the man's sincerity. Besides, the sight of all those little robed creatures killed by this Evil Empire, as well as Luke's parents. No, I couldn't refuse.

Ben seemed quite content that I joined in, while Luke threw me a very curious glance. Somehow, I had the impression the older man knew more about me than he should. Story of my life.

Once inside the hangar, I got another shock. This thing could fly??? Obviously, as I am now aboard, deep in space, but let me tell you, it really didn't look like it could lift off. As a matter of fact, it looked more like it would fall apart if you exhaled a little too strongly in its neighbourhood. Obviously, Luke agreed, as his undignified tone of voice told me more than his words, which I didn't understand. I really should make work of this if it continued to look like I wouldn't be able to get home.

As we were boarding, a large group of the white-armoured soldiers rushed in and opened fire. Before we even were properly inside, the ship was already lifting off, engines humming powerfully, and some slight shakes running through the vehicle, which I guessed were hits with their energy weapons. These weapons looked like they fired of stunning spells, as the blasts had the same colour and size. Obviously, they weren't stunning spells of course.

I didn't know much of what was happening, as there was a lot of jolting and manoeuvring, almost like flying on a broom, while the two droids, Ben, Luke and I were trying to sit in a small roundish room in the centre of the ship. Then, all the jolting stopped, and most of the noise from the engines died out. Curious, I can tell you that.

A few minutes later, the pilot, a brown-haired man in his early thirties with an almost permanent half-smirk etched on his face entered the common room, as I dubbed it, announcing something, which made everyone relax. Soon after, a massive, straight-walking monkey with fangs entered the room.

Time for introductions, apparently, as the pilot didn't seem so pleased about his ship being shot at. I wouldn't be either. I was still angry at the Dementors and the Whomping Willow and Umbridge! And so, the adventures of Ben Kenobi, Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, Chewbacca and Harry Potter started. Oh! Must not forget, R2-D2 and C-3PO, before the latter starts rambling again. I was content to only hear the entire history of Tat-o-een once. A second time was not necessary at all! Stupid droid!

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A/N: Read and Review.


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